


For what is still to come

by thejourneymaninn



Series: Domestic shenanigans [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humour, Lyriumchristmas, M/M, More Fluff, Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:54:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9070546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejourneymaninn/pseuds/thejourneymaninn
Summary: Anders and Fenris host a Christmas party for their friends…But why is Anders so nervous?
Part of Domestic Shenanigans. Like all fics belonging to this series, it can be read as a stand-alone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For #lyriumchristmas on tumblr. Prompt: 'Christmas Party'

“Everything alright, love?” Anders poked his head into the kitchen, where Fenris was managing several pots and pans with his usual, calm precision.

“I am fine. Get back to preparing the living room.”

“Admit it, you just want me out of the kitchen.”

“I just want you out of the kitchen. A fact I have never even remotely tried to hide.”

“I’m not a bad cook,” Anders insisted. He might have been pouting just a tiny bit.

“No,” Fenris conceded, “you are not. Yet we agreed _I_ would take care of dinner this time, and I need to concentrate. Go set the table. The others will be here soon.”

Still pouting, Anders did as Fenris had asked and then got to work on the other, highly-demanding task he had been assigned: transferring snacks from plastic bags into bowls.

He was almost finished when the doorbell announced the arrival of their first guest. Right on time. Had to be Aveline.

He opened the door to let her in – there was a flash of white turning into _ouch_ and darkness. Also, his face was suddenly wet. And cold.

“Gotcha!”

Not Aveline, but a very satisfied Isabela, a giggling Merrill on her arm.

“Did you just _snowball_ me?”

“Oh, sweet thing, as if you had no experience with that.” Her grin was entirely unapologetic.

“Seriously Isabela, in my _face_?”

“Aw shit,” she pouted, “shouldn’t have used that line so soon.”

“I’m sorry Anders; that probably wasn’t a very nice thing to do... The snow is so pretty though, isn’t it? Do you want my scarf to dry your face?”

“Thanks, Merrill, but we do have towels, you know…”

“I bet you do,” Isabela snorted.

“Just shut up and get inside – _Don’t_ say it!”

“Don’t worry, sweet thing. That was too easy.”

“Not something I thought I’d ever hear you say.”

Chuckling softly, Isabela stepped past him into the hall. Merrill followed, a slight frown on her face.

“Did I miss something dirty again?”

Well, that was it, then. With the arrival of their first guests, their little group’s annual Christmas dinner had officially begun. He had no idea why he was so nervous; he and Fenris had hosted it before. But now that they actually, officially lived together, in a house that was theirs, it seemed weirdly important that Fenris had a good time, that he truly felt like he was _home_. He was aware of how ridiculous it was – Maker knows they’d had some of their best Christmas dinners back when Hawke had still had that tiny apartment in Lowtown, with microwave dinners, cookie dough straight from the pack and a TV the size of a stamp – but he wanted tonight to be perfect. Ridiculous or not, if you planned to ask someone to be your home for the rest of their life (and someday soon, Anders swore for the 100th time, he would), it certainly couldn’t hurt to demonstrate that you were in fact capable of being the same for them…

His thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll get it,” Merrill offered, darting down the stairs. A few minutes later, Aveline and Donnic stepped into the room, Merrill and Fenris right behind them.

Aveline took one look at the Christmas lights and socks above the fireplace and, before Anders had a chance to say so much as ‘hello’, declared, “This is a fire hazard.”

“That may be so, yet it stays,” Fenris stated evenly.

“I’m sure they’ll be careful,” Donnic gave her a reassuring smile. “You worry too much, love.”

“Pfft. Someone has to keep these fools safe.”

“Another lecture on safety measures? Must be Christmas.”

As Aveline and Isabela got on with their ritual of a good-natured welcome-fight, Anders walked over to Fenris.

“Are you done in the kitchen?”

“Mostly, yes. Enough so that I can spare a few minutes to welcome our guests.” Fenris leaned against his back, wrapping his arms around him. “You seem tense.”

Anders sighed, snuggling into him. “I just…want it to be perfect. For you. I want you to have fun.”

“I am having fun. I shall have even more if you relax.” Fenris pressed his nose into his skin, placing a soft trail of kisses down his neck. His hair tickled against Anders’ ears. “Besides, perfection is dull. I vastly prefer the chaotic mess that is you.”

“I’ll remind you of that next time you complain about the state of the kitchen.”

“I have no doubt you will.”

 

 

Varric was next to arrive, and soon enough all of their friends were scattered across the living room, except for Sebastian who was, of course, in church on this ‘holy day’ (which Anders secretly considered to be his true Christmas present). As usual, Hawke was the last to arrive, his slobbering menace of a dog in tow.

“Good god, what is this? Did someone detonate a Christmas-bomb in here?” He asked as they were walking up the stairs.

“Shut up, Gar.”

“You _know_ I hate it when you call me Gar.”

“Well, and _I_ hate it when you insult our house. Fenris worked hard on this, so if you say even _one_ thing about it that isn’t overflowing with praise, I’ll stuff some of our leftover glitter in places where you’re certainly not going to like it.”

“Aw, Gramps, you guys are so cute when you threaten to maim for each other.”

“Alright, that does it. Fenris,” he called as they entered the living room, “Hawke called me Grandpa again. Would you do me a favour and punch him?”

“No, I shall not. It’s Christmas.”

“You don’t even _like_ Christmas. And I thought you loved me!” Anders cried, clutching his chest dramatically.

Fenris seemed entirely unperturbed. “Should you still desire it by then, I will gladly punch him on New Year’s Eve.”

“You hear that, Hawke? Before the year is up, vengeance will be mine!”

“And I thought you were my friend!” Hawke turned towards Fenris in an equally impressive display of drama.

“I am. Yet I am his friend _and_ lover. He wins. Perhaps,” he added with a smirk, “that will teach you to respect the elderly.”

“Aveline,” Anders said with terrifying calmness, “would you please punch my boyfriend?”

“I will punch all of you if you don’t shut up.”

“I’ll do it,” Isabela chimed in from across the room.

“No one is punching anyone,” Aveline raised her voice. “At least not before I’ve had dinner.”

“Ah, come on, Aveline, don’t do this to me. Let the kids play. Things were just about to get interesting…” Varric said, opening his notebook and brandishing his most dangerous weapon, the infamous fountain pen Bianca.

Yet as usual, Aveline remained firm, and about fifteen minutes of bickering and threats later, everyone was sitting around the table, ready to eat in (relative) peace.

 

“Should I be worried you are going to keep asking people to punch me? Some might consider ‘Please assault my boyfriend’ a troublesome statement,” Fenris asked with a mocking smirk as they went to the kitchen to fetch the various components of the meal he had prepared.

“Well,” Anders replied distractedly, trying to balance four platters on his two arms, “maybe they’ll be less offended once it is ‘punch my husband’.”

He was so busy trying not to drop the food Fenris had worked so hard on, he only noticed the elf had been silent for almost a minute when he was startled by the sound of a low chuckle.

“Did you just propose to me with an insult and a threat of violence?” 

It took a moment for realisation to hit him but when it did, the impact was as shattering as Isabela’s snowball had been. It was only thanks to Fenris’ quick reflexes that the roast survived.

“No!” he exclaimed, wide-eyed. “I…I mean...” he swallowed. “I admit, I _was_ going to propose but...not like _that._ Entirely without threats of violence. And certainly not when our friends are around. In private...so you could comfortably say no and make a run for it.”

Fenris replied with the gentlest smirk Anders had ever seen on him. “I am not saying no. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“You...” This time, realisation made him float...and promptly crash back down. “No, this wasn't right; you deserve so much more. Give ma few days to ask again. I'll think of something better...you know, with ten percent more flowers and a hundred percent less insults.”

“I liked this one.” Fenris flashed him a grin. “Just like old times.” He interlaced their fingers and pressed a kiss to Anders’ lips. “We have come a long way since then.”

“Yes,” Anders smiled, pressing their foreheads together, “we have. I’m still going to ask you again in a proper manner, though.”

“Perhaps I will ask you, first.”

“That works, too.”

They remained like this, just lightly touching, floating in the giddiness of the moment – until their friends’ cries for “Foooooooood!” became too loud to ignore.

“Let us not tell them yet,” Fenris said as they walked over to the dining room.

“No,” Anders agreed, “for a few days at least, I would like this to be just for us.”

 

 

Dinner had been an absolute success – not that Anders had had any doubts, Fenris was a wizard in the kitchen. Once they had been able to move again, everyone had settled in the living room for their traditional gift exchange (another row of successes, _naturally_ ). As always when the whole group got together, the hours passed without anyone even noticing. Soon enough, their friends would leave. Or perhaps they would decide to stay over. The place was big enough, after all, he’d still have the bedroom – and Fenris – to himself for the night. And, Anders thought, it would be nice to have breakfast with all of them again, like they used to when they were young (not that he was _old_ now!). Comfortably reclined in one of their giant armchairs, he let his gaze wander across the room.

In the corner across from him, Varric was sitting by himself, scribbling furiously. Donnic had fallen asleep on the couch, Pounce on top of him (he had wriggled out if his costume, that beautiful little genius). His wife was nowhere to be seen. Anders dimly recalled her saying something about checking if there were things in the house that needed fixing. Merrill and Isabela were over at the table. Merrill had covered herself in pieces of decoration (“It’s not Dalish, I know, but it looks so pretty.”) and Isabela was giving her yet another lesson in the fine art of body shots. And there was Fenris, sitting between Hawke and the dog in front of the fireplace, eyes alight and animatedly discussing something. Their eyes met and they shared a brief smile, for everything that was and everything that was still to come.

His boyfriend – no, his fiancé - their friends, Pounce, Hawke’s smelly dog, everyone he cared about was here, tonight, in their new home. They were together, and they were safe.

Things were good.

No, Anders corrected himself, they were pretty fucking amazing.


End file.
